Unlike Let It Die, which was evenly divided between original and covered material, Feist wrote or co-wrote all the songs and co-produced all the tracks on The Reminder. (Thankfully, Feist keeps such word tricks to a minimum they could quickly become cliché.) (If you have not done so already, be sure to check the video where Feist skips about on one of those flat escalators designed to escort passengers between airport terminals.) Lyrically, it’s a bit of a riddle: “My moon’s white face/ What day and what phase/ It’s the calendar page again.” One characteristic of Feist’s songwriting is how she describes something with its polar opposite, i.e. In contrast, a wry sweetness consumes the whimsical “My Moon My Man”. The dirge-like mood, which incorporates a melody by Brendan Canning, seems inspired by Hurricane Katrina, especially in regard to the lines “Pale as a pile of bones/ You hope for your babies/ And this is how they grow/ Wind-battered, knocked over.” Vibes, horns, accordion, and bells gently decorate Feist’s somber piano melody. How Feist holds the first syllable of “water” further exemplifies her vocal prowess. Feist’s shimmering timbre on “The Water”, for example, is positively haunting. Such exaltations are balanced fairly evenly across the album by moodier, introspective pieces. “Ha!”, she shouts mid-song in a spontaneous moment of liberation, “The wings are wide… Oh I’ll be the one to break my heart.” It’s a joyously rollicking affair, all scratchy guitar, chimes, tambourine, and waves of rolling piano keys. In fact, one of the most felt tunes on the album is entitled “I Feel It All”. This is not necessarily an improvement, since there certainly wasn’t anything unappealing about her vocal style on Let It Die, but her palette of emoting is far more variegated now. Nearly three years of constant touring has made Feist an even more confident vocalist. That voice just happens to be one of the most remarkable features on The Reminder. “We could hold each other tight tonight,” she suggests in such a manner that you could forgive her anything. Her voice and her feelings open up as this quiet lament progresses. It’s difficult to be rational in the heat of the moment, no matter who owes the apology. The first sound you hear is Feist’s voice, delicately purring the words, “I’m sorry/ Two words I always think/ After you’re gone/ When I realize I was acting all wrong.” Alone with her guitar, Feist touches on a universal truth of human relationships - “we’re slaves to our impulses”. Is Feist singing to a private audience of one? It appears so to me, especially on “So Sorry”, the album’s hushed opening. (How Feist loves to tease!) The fact that The Reminder was recorded in less than two weeks - in an old manor on the outskirts of Paris, no less - only adds to the sweetness of its fragrance. A solid argument for extending the shelf life of the compact disc is this album’s colorful, well-designed booklet, which not only contains the lyrics but a mysterious Polaroid of dice. By the third listen, the lyrics, always something of a puzzle where Feist is concerned, are less cryptic and the melodies take hold like the warm handshake of a new friend.
One is advised to experience The Reminder in solitude first, then perhaps listen with another person or two, and then again in solitude. How the subtle charms of The Reminder unobtrusively unfold are part of this album’s appeal. The anticipation greeting the return of this beguiling chanteuse is substantial and, dear readers, Feist does not disappoint. Factoring in the P2P community, well over half a million listeners are awaiting The Reminder. Armed with a disarming voice, Feist sprinkled folk and pop melodies inside a vat of loungey electronica, capturing the ears of at least 400,000 listeners worldwide (that’s how many units Let It Die sold). The success of Let It Die (2004) percolated over two years wherein Feist (first name, Leslie) became a one-syllable wonder for a variety of music audiences.
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